Rogue Hearts by Delilah Devlin! Contest!

My turn to share a sexy snippet from my story in Rogues! On the surface, you have to wonder what makes the hero a rogue, but you’ll have to read the rest of the story to find out! 😉

And because I have another brand new release, Planet Desire, that I’d like you to know about, I’ll give a copy of the reader’s choice of one of the prequel books (Desire’s Prisoner or Desire’s Slave) to one lucky winner!

When a lonely shut-in’s online query is answered for a sexy rendezvous, she’s stunned when her handsome “escort” proves more adept than she’d dreamed

Just as arranged, I arrived at the hotel lobby at 8:00 PM sharp. I made my way to the concierge’s desk and picked up the envelope left for me. Inside was the card key. No note. I headed for the elevators, trying to still the fluttering of butterflies in my belly.

Once the doors closed, I glanced at my reflection in the mirrored walls. Other than two bright spots of color riding my cheeks, there was no sign of my inner case of nerves. The woman staring back was a stranger: frizzy blonde hair tamed into a sleek, shoulder-length bob, features masked with artfully applied makeup, green contacts altering my ordinary, hazel eyes. The dress was another bit of subterfuge. The waist nipped in any softness there, the skirt flared over padded hips. The navy silk leant me an air of mystery and style, in stark contrast to my usual work “uniform” of fuzzy pajama pants and superhero tees.

Tonight was about fantasies—mine—and the packaging was just my armor to make sure I could get through this evening without geeking out. A tall order for someone as painfully shy as I was. Someone who preferred the company of her cat and her online friends.

The chime sounded as the elevator stopped at the seventh floor. I took a deep breath, lifted my chin, and stepped out with confidence. An act, because now the butterflies were flapping franticly to escape.

At the door, I quickly swiped the card, hoping I’d arrived first. So that I’d have time to get comfortable in my surroundings or hide in the bathroom. But when I pressed down on the handle, I heard music playing softly inside the pricey suite. The lighting was muted. A man wearing a tailored suit stood in front of the large window, his back to me, his lean frame outlined against the city skyline.

Should I clear my throat? I reconsidered. He might take that as a sign of nervousness. And I had been the one to select this particular scenario. No need to alert him to the fact this role I was set to play lay completely outside my reality.

He saved me from making my first mistake, turning slowly, his dark gaze roaming over my body.

As he looked, I hoped my jaw wasn’t sagging. His profile picture on the Fantasy Dates forum hadn’t done him justice. Tall and athletic, he’d written, but the description didn’t encompass the breadth of his shoulders or the narrowness of his hips. His dark hair was cropped close, his dark brows a tad heavy, but they gave him that brooding look, that Heathcliff vibe that tended to cause a woman’s knees to weaken and her heart to race. Mine sure did. Add lips that were neither too large or small, but with that requisite firmness that challenged a girl to think of a way to pull that mouth into a smile. He was utterly perfect.

Too perfect for me. I tightened against the urge to whirl and flee.

“You’re prompt,” he said.

“I consider it bad manners to arrive too early or too late,” I murmured, wondering who the hell was speaking because my voice was never that sultry.

“Well, we’re here,” he said, waving a hand at the suite.

How was I to reply to that? Duh. Yeah. But then I realized what he wasn’t asking. What next? This was my fantasy.

And what had I specified? A good-looking male escort, willing to fulfill a new client’s desires. I’d been vague, and after my fantasy request had sat on the forum without a single query of interest, the administrator had asked if I could specify what those desires were. My mind had gone blank and for the two days I’d kept that website tab closed because I hadn’t decided what exactly I wanted to have happen. But then, he’d replied. Cool Operator was okay with a vague scenario. He preferred room to “operate”.

He’d saved me from having to put to words what I wanted. Now, I wasn’t so sure that had been the wisest course of action. Our dark net forum was a place for the seediest, most secretive assignations. No Tinder or Match.com hook-ups there. I’d never had the nerve to put myself “out there” in a public way. Although I had questioned my sanity over going this route.

I took courage from my last reply to his arrangements for the evening. My friends will know where I am. Should things go south, I’ll be sure to leave plenty of DNA to point your way.

I’d spent a sleepless night contemplating that statement. Imagining the DNA we’d leave on the sheets, the rug, the bathroom…

Okay, so my fantasies had been strictly erotic. Not CSI-worthy.

And here we were, and he was still looking at me with those darkly hooded eyes, waiting for me to indicate how I wanted to proceed.

How would Sonoma Siren reply? Keep to the script. “Your agency said you were willing to accommodate special requests,” I said, giving him a slight smile—hoping it was an appropriately seductive curve of my lips.

“My agency…was correct.”

Still, he didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t approach. The moment dragged out until I knew he wasn’t going to make this easy for me. His silence was a challenge.

Answering challenges wasn’t something natural for me. Work came my way without much effort. I rarely ventured out of my routine. And yet, his brooding gaze sparked something inside me. Here, this night, I could be bold.

I strode toward him, letting my hips sway, aware the fabric molded to first one side then the other, giving him a clearer idea of my true shape. His eyelids dipped as he followed my movements. His jaw tightened just a fraction.

My un-model-like physique didn’t appear to put him off. My confidence grew. When I stood a foot away, I turned slowly. “Would you help me with the zip?”

He made a sound, like a soft cough, but his hands quickly lifted away my hair. The zipper lowered, and I took my first deep breath of the evening. He inhaled deeply and his fingers traced a path down the center of my naked back.

I looked over my shoulder, trying to gauge his reaction while at the same time flirting with my eyelashes.

He pushed the silk off my shoulders and bent to place a kiss in the curve of my neck. “I take it, we won’t be heading to the dining room?”

“If you’re hungry, we can order in…”

He bit my neck, causing me to jerk. “Maybe later.”

I took an unsteady breath and stepped away. His hands left my shoulders. Turning slowly, I let him see the excitement building inside me. My cheeks were warm, my breaths jagged. I was going to do this. Have an assignation with a stranger. An “escort” I’d never met. And I was in charge. I lifted my chin toward his chest. “I’d like to see what I’m paying for.” Well, we’d both paid for this, having agreed to split the hotel bill down the middle, but we still had parts to play.

His crooked smile was more bemused than salacious, a relief to me, because if he’d leered, I might have had second thoughts. Instead, adorably, a flush spread across his cheeks as he removed his jacket, his tie, then slowly unbuttoned his white dress shirt. The moment the sides opened to expose his chest, my breasts tightened. His chest was nicely muscled, lightly cloaked with dark brown hair. My gaze followed the narrow trail that disappeared beneath his belt.

He didn’t make me wait. The belt, the zipper were both opened, the pants quickly slid down leanly muscled thighs. A runner, I thought as I tried not to gawk at the erection pressing against his gray briefs.

When he stood in just his underwear, his curled hands resting on his hips, I couldn’t help but think of Bruce Wayne—urbane, cute in a suit—hiding his powerful allure. Not letting himself be seen for who he truly was until he masked up. Only Cool Operator’s attractions grew when he removed the safe suit. Did that make him Clark Kent? Imagining him nude but wearing a cape made me smile.

“Not fair,” he said wagging a finger.

I took a ragged breath. “That should be my line,” I said, waving a hand up and down his body. “I’m not nearly as interesting.”

A blush spread over my cheeks. But his reassurance did the trick. I stepped out of my heels, then pulled at the front of my dress and slipped my arms out. Nude from the waist up, I gauged his reaction by the tightening of his abdomen and the stirring of the hard ridge poking at his underpants. Quickly, before I lost my nerve, I pushed the dress past my hips to let it fall with a soft whoosh to the floor.

I lowered my eyes and stood still. Suddenly shy. He stepped forward and reached out, his thumbs slipping under the elastic at my hips. He pulled. It gave. And then I was entirely naked, my thighs pressing together because a pulse was throbbing, there between my legs.

The script. I was the one in charge. I placed my hands on his hips and glided downward, but his briefs snagged on his erection.

He made a soft grunting sound. I hoped it wasn’t laughter. But the thought firmed my resolve. I plucked the waistband outward, freeing his cock, and then knelt to drag his undergarment to his feet.

Of course, that left his cock at eye-level—if I would only turn my head to look.

Slowly, his hand entered my view, and he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and slowly tilted it toward me.

Not the script. But what the hell? I was curious now whether it was as firm as it appeared. Whether I’d like his scent. Whether he’d taste every bit as yummy as he looked. I turned and tilted my head and let him press the tip against my mouth. I opened and invited him to slide atop my tongue.